"So can we skip to the part where we fuck with the Blight?"

Thirteen pairs of eyes turned to look at Rob. Today's big group meeting consisted of Riardin's Rangers, Elder Alessia, Elder Duran, Faelynn, and a couple of the Grand Overseers. Rob had never bothered to learn the Overseers' names, not when he could always Identify them to remind himself. Committing their names to memory would've required him to erase a bit of superhero trivia in order to make room, and that wasn't a worthwhile trade at all.

"Just saying," he continued, "that we've been discussing logistics for a while now, instead of the main thing that's on everyone's mind."

"Matters related to the Blight are likely to develop into a protracted conversation," Grand Overseer Someone-Or-Other replied. "As such, we felt it prudent to resolve other subjects first, lest we neglect to address them."

"The Merfolk are shy, but Duran is making inroads with them," Rob began, in a tone like he was reading from a grocery list. "The Dwarves have barricaded themselves in their hidey-hole. The Dragon Queen has been similarly silent ever since she ate a facefull of Corruption. Meanwhile, domestic morale is high. The Corruption epidemic is close to eradicated. Life is returning to normal. The Deserters are getting along with the Fiends. Tickets to the recent play based on Riardin's Rangers have sold out. My hand is getting tired from signing autographs." He grinned. "That about cover everything?"

Grand Overseer #2 sighed, and Rob's grin deepened. Maybe he shouldn't mess with them quite so much, but in all honesty, he was still annoyed with how they'd initially treated him when the Deserters arrived at Fiendland. This was his way of taking harmless revenge. Was it petty? Yes. Was it fun? Absolutely.

"Consider yourself lucky," Grand Overseer #2 muttered, "that you aren't involved in organizing the small details of domestic affairs. You wouldn't be so glib if you'd been neck-deep in stacks of paper until the sun crested well below the horizon."

What horizon? Rob bitterly mused. Can't see it over the yawning, pitch-black abyss enclosing Elatra. Only Riardin's Rangers knew of it; they'd been 'blessed' with the capacity to view That Which Should Not Be Seen after skirting too close to the edge of the world. Now, whenever Rob looked at the horizon, he saw the void, a towering wall of nothingness enclosing Elatra's borders as if it was a cage. Omnipresent. All-consuming. The warm, vibrant sunsets he'd enjoyed in the past were gone, never to return.

Riardin's Rangers had unanimously decided not to inform anyone of what they'd discovered. It would distress people at best, cause a mass panic at worst, for no discernible upside. That didn't mean they were happy about suffering in silence. Looking at the void horizon inspired a distinct sense of unease, one that chipped away at their psyches like a chisel on stone. It had gotten to the point where someone simply mentioning the word 'horizon' made Rob want to blurt out what he knew. Show them what he saw.

Thankfully, before he could say something he would regret, Zamira cut in. "I'm certain that your paperwork is very stressful," she told the Grand Overseer, in a perfectly neutral tone. "If that's how you feel, then I'd like to propose an exchange. Riardin's Rangers shall take over your clerical duties, and the Grand Overseers will dedicate themselves to fighting Blightspawn and expunging Dungeons. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

"...Perhaps we should move on to our plans regarding the Blight."

Orn'tol and Malika nodded intently, looking as if they'd been granted a stay of execution. Rob could only imagine that they were regretting their life choices right about now. The young siblings had originally been told they could skip out on the meeting; after all, there wasn't much they could offer to the nitty-gritty of running a nation. Both had steadfastly refused, probably wanting to come across as mature adults. Unfortunately for them, they were early teenagers, with early teenager attention spans.

Diplomacy commented. The Skill chuckled, their core pulsing with mirth.

I know, right? Rob sighed internally. Where's the ritualistic sacrifice and soul-eating buffets? I'd take that over another Fiend bigwig asking to be punted up the Purge Corruption waiting list. They still haven't learned that their bribes don't mean shit.

Technically speaking, Rob was broke. He didn't own a single penny to his name. In a broader sense, he was the richest person in all of Fiendland, because he could ask for almost anything and they'd give it to him. The public loved him, and more importantly, they needed him. No one else in the world could cure Corruption. Without Rob, everyone in Fiendland would have perished – and they'd be just as fucked if the Corruption epidemic restarted and he wasn't around. He couldn't be coerced, either, as being an Awakened Level 51 Combat Class user meant that he was close to invincible unless he ran into an Elatran Leader or got ganged up on by a group of elite fighters.

That...was more power than he was comfortable with. Abusing his authority in order to annoy the Grand Overseers was one thing; the notion that he could turn into an actual despot if he truly wanted to felt disquieting. Like if someone had handed him a loaded gun while silently begging that he never fired it.

"Rob?"

The Human flinched at the sound of his name being called. "Whuh?" He mumbled, brain catching up to the present. "Sorry, was talking to Diplomacy. What'd I miss?"

Grand Overseer #1 glared at him. "We were ceding the floor to you. Describe your intentions, in full detail."

"Right," Rob began. "I'll cut straight to the point. Once I finish up Purging the Corruption in Fiendland, I want to go on a Locus revival world tour. Nevermore City and The Village aren't the only places that have had their Loci of Power desecrated by the Blight. This is-"

"One moment," Elder Alessia interrupted, turning to face the Grand Overseers. "Before we continue, I'd like to hear confirmation. The Blight hasn't made any attempts to re-infect the Locus of Power in Nevermore City, correct?"

It was an important question. Rob could hardly go gallivanting across Elatra if Fiendland was still in danger. Thankfully, Grand Overseer #1 shook his head in response. "We've kept a close eye on Nevermore City, and as far as we're aware, the Blight has surrendered its claim on the Locus."

He held up a hand. "Keep in mind that we also don't know exactly what that implies. The Blight may currently be avoiding Fiend territory because of Rob's presence. That condition would change if he left to go on this 'world tour' he's suggesting. The Blight may also simply be unable to infect a Locus that Rob has previously revitalized. There's no way to know; restoring Loci of Power is a new ability with merely two examples of data to extrapolate from. And even if that is the case, there's no guarantee that the Blight will remain unable to re-infect Loci in the future."

Rob raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you're not a fan of my idea?"

"Dissenting opinions are important in any major discussion," the Overseer explained. He gestured to himself, then to his colleagues. "And as the nominal Leaders of Fiend territory, our decisions carry heavy weight. We won't agree to any course of action that will endanger our people."

"I fail to see how revitalizing Loci of Power is going to endanger anyone," Rob countered. "Seems like it'd do the opposite."

"To start with: you would risk drawing the Blight's attention."

Rob thought back to the very first Blight from The Village. He'd taunted it so effectively that it burned the last of its life energy to kill him. Then there was the Blight from Broadwater City, which he cast Enmity on, gaining its full and undivided attention for a solid minute. Then there was the Blight infesting the Leviathan in Merfolk territory, which he'd heavily damaged and sent packing with Purge Corruption.

"Yeeeeeah," Rob drawled, exhaling deeply. "I think that ship has sailed."

Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably as they comprehended the implications of his statement.

"Be that as it may," Grand Overseer #2 eventually said, her voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "What purpose would revitalizing other Loci of Power in areas far away from Fiend territory serve? We possess little evidence that doing so directly harms the Blight. It wouldn't contribute to our goals in the slightest." She hesitated. "Speaking bluntly, it seems to me that this idea partially stems from a position of vengeful egoism."

Rob winced. She wasn't entirely wrong, really. Part of his reason for suggesting the Locus world tour was because he wanted to stick it to the Blight. To show the abominations that they could be beaten. For once, Rob wanted to be proactive instead of reactive – but he understood why that sort of reasoning wouldn't appeal to the Fiends. They were still licking their wounds from the last crisis. He needed to give them a tangible benefit to work with.

"There are probably Loci of Power that were Corrupted near other cities," he put forth. "We just don't know about them, as we haven't been in contact with the rest of Elatra. Revitalizing a Locus in, say, Elven territory – like what we did with The Village, except with witnesses – would earn a lot of brownie points for us."

"For you, you mean."

Rob shook his head. "I'm allied with Fiendland, remember? My accolades would reflect well on you."

The Grand Overseers appeared shocked for a brief moment before reinstating their poker faces. Apparently, they weren't yet used to the concept of a Human openly admitting allegiance with them. It was going to take their subconscious some time to internalize that the Fiends' and Humans' millennia-long blood feud was over.

Looking around, Rob was pleased to see that Faelynn – unlike the Grand Overseers – wasn't surprised by his assertion. He'd expected as much, but it was always a nice feeling to trust and be trusted in return. She made for a good eighth Party member.

Speaking of...

Message Started Between Party Members: Rob, Faelynn

Rob: btw

Rob: i mean, by the way

Rob: if i go on the world tour, you get to come with, as your my party's primary fiend liaison

Rob: which means you prob become known across elatra as a heroic fiend helping to save the day

Rob: just sayin

Faelynn froze, her eyes widening with equal parts nervousness and anticipation. Rob wondered how many stories she'd read while growing up that were centered around that exact idea. The Fiends in general had a – very reasonable – chip on their shoulder over being ostracized by the rest of Elatra. Whichever Fiend first managed to break that mold would go down in history as a legend.

"I think Rob's proposal is a fine idea," Faelynn interjected. Her words started out as robotic, but gradually became more natural as she picked up steam. "Fiend territory can't stay isolated forever. Eventually, the Blight's spread will likely force us into contact with the other nations, and it's better if we meet with them on our terms. As saviors, hopefully."

Message Continued Between Party Members: Rob, Faelynn

Faelynn: A heroic Fiend...known across Elatra...sounds rather appealing.

Faelynn: ...Please don't tell anyone about this conversation. I would be so embarrassed!

Rob: haha no worries

Rob: my lips r sealed

The Grand Overseers fell into quiet contemplation, each of them considering her words. Before they could respond, Elder Duran spoke up. "Revitalizing Loci of Power in foreign territory is fraught with more perils than you might initially assume," he began, adopting his lecture voice. "Convincing others to accept our assistance will be extremely difficult. The Cataclysm is too fresh of a wound for them to easily trust a Human, especially one who has allied himself with Fiends. Combat Class users and Utility Class users alike will be wary of allowing Fiends into their borders, lest they end up with their souls devoured."

Duran held up his hand, forestalling the burgeoning outcry from Faelynn and the Grand Overseers. "We understand that you would never partake in such barbaric practices," Duran continued, "but the rest of Elatra does not. Prejudices aren't so easily overturned as that. Before they can trust us, we must show our worth."

He pointed at a map currently splayed out on their conference table. At the western edge of Elatra, covering a good 10% of the continent's landmass, was an area denoted via pure black coloration. "The Deadlands," Elder Duran spat, as if uttering a curse, "contain dozens of Corrupted Loci that are ripe for restoration. Reducing the Deadlands' boundaries even by a fraction would serve as irrefutable proof of our intentions and capabilities."

Everyone else froze as they realized what Duran was suggesting. The Deadlands had been a geographical fixture of Elatra for well over a thousand years. They were the result of the Blight's invasion during ancient times, a testament to what would happen if Elatra failed to repel its invaders. Eradicating the Deadlands would be equivalent to moving mountains; it just wasn't possible.

Not without Purge Corruption, anyway.

"That would make a hell of a statement," Rob said, giving two thumbs-up. "I'm in."

"Don't be so rash," Grand Overseer #2 cautioned. "The Deadlands aren't freshly-Blighted Lands that are in the process of Corrupting the surrounding area. They've existed longer than any living being in Elatra. We've no idea what lies within them. You'd be subjecting yourselves to great, unknown danger."

"Oh no," Keira drawled, in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "Danger, you say? For Riardin's Rangers? Why, that would be unprecedented."

Malika let out a snicker, and Orn'tol did his best to suppress his own. The Grand Overseers' composure broke for an instant, their faces transforming to expressions of 'what did I do to deserve this?' before reverting back to masks of political neutrality. "Is there anyone among your number who would oppose an excursion into the Deadlands?"

No one said a word. Out of curiosity, Rob tried to muster even an ounce of nervousness, and found that he just didn't care. Logically, he should. The Deadlands were uncharted territory. Anything could be lurking inside them.

But whatever was, it couldn't be worse than the Leviathan and the endless void it called home. Nothing else would ever give him the existential terror he'd felt in that moment. Compared to that, the Deadlands may as well have been an amusement park.

"...Very well," the Grand Overseer said. "We'll begin making preparations, then. It'll take some time, and Rob will need to undergo Soul Surgery to remove Diplomacy first, but if you're certain of this course, then we'll proceed."

The Elders and every member of Riardin's Rangers nodded. Without hesitation.

Rob wasn't the only one who wanted to stick it to the Blight.

--

The Elven district was lively today. Not quite as lively as the rest of Acrastor City, but that was to be expected. Prior to arriving in Fiend territory, the Deserters had survived no less than three different Blight invasions in three different cities. The Corruption epidemic was just another in the long line of catastrophes they'd managed to overcome. Rather than the overwhelming relief that the Fiends were exhibiting, the Elves were acting more muted, aware that this fleeting peace was likely the calm before the storm.

It was part of why Rob was so eager to start taking action outside of Fiend territory. If he was going to draw the Blight's attention, then so be it. That genie was already out of the bottle. Better to draw attention away from the Fiends and Deserters instead of holing up in Fiendland and waiting for the next crisis to arrive at their doorstep.

This peace may be fleeting, but he'd protect it for as long as he could.

Rob made sure to smile and wave at the Elves as he walked towards his destination. As their 'Lord Blightkiller', one way he could protect the peace was by adopting a confident demeanor. Apparently, after you reached Level 51 and went toe-to-toe with Blights and Elatran Leaders, for some reason people started to assume you knew what you were doing. Combine that with assistance from Diplomacy in adjusting his facial expression, and presto! Rob was suddenly a competent authority figure that they could put their trust in. Some of the more perceptive Elves might have been able to detect the anxiety simmering under his countenance, but they weren't about to ruin everyone else's' good vibes by pointing that out.

On the plus side, no one approached him, content to wave back or raise their fist in unity. The novelty of a Human ally in their midst had worn off long ago; he was a staple figure of the Deserters now. It was a stark contrast from the way he'd been treated when first meeting the Elves. Rob's confident smile became a hair more strained as he remembered his early days in The Village. Much like with the Grand Overseers, it wasn't an experience he was sure he'd ever completely forget. Forgive, yes, but forget? Eeeeh.

Diplomacy said,

That's that, and this is this, Rob explained. I don't need to like someone to help them. And in fairness, there'd been Elves besides his friends who'd supported him. Cyrus and Vurion had lost their husband and father, respectively, because of Rob's failures. Despite that, neither of them hesitated to give him encouragement during moments of weakness, and Rob was sure that there were other Deserters who would have done exactly the same. Some of them actually did appreciate his efforts as a person – not just as a strong Combat Class user. That alone was worth lending them a hand.

As he reminisced, Rob noticed that Diplomacy was trying very hard to hide their thoughts from him. You're psychoanalyzing me right now, aren't you?

the Skill replied.

Rob snorted. Well, save it for later. He stopped walking – having reached their destination – and gestured to a tiny, nondescript building in front of them. I need you on Crotchety Old Man duty in case this talk goes sour. Two knocks later, and he was carefully treading inside, keeping Not A Scratch active as a precautionary measure. He wasn't expecting it to be necessary, but in truth, this ramshackle hovel was the single most volatile place in all of Fiendland.

"Mind your left," a gruff voice ordered, emanating from further inside. Rob looked left milliseconds before scuffing his boot against a crate that read: 'Firebombs, Still Settling, DO NOT TOUCH', with the last three words underlined extensively. He froze, breath caught in his throat, awaiting a thunderous kaboom that never came.

"Lothren preserve," the voice muttered, poking his head out from behind a doorway. "I think you just reduced my lifespan by a decade."

Rob fought down his embarrassment and cleared his throat. "It's been quite some time," he began, in a stately tone. "I trust your accommodations are to your liking?"

Urian the Artificer raised his eyebrows. "Why do you sound like you have a Vraal shoved up your ass? Speak plainly. You weren't nearly so formal when last visiting."

Oh thank god. Rob relaxed his posture and let Diplomacy adjust his patented Competent Authority Figure Smile to something more personable. "Works for me. You want to exchange pleasantries or-"

"Heavens, no." Urian paused. "Although I'll admit that my accommodations are indeed to my liking. Makes me feel a bit guilty to own a house when the other Elves are stuck in shared lodgings, but considering my profession, I can't rightfully argue against it."

Rob nodded in agreement. As an Artificer who dabbled in general craftsmanship, Urian was a prized producer of the Deserters' war supplies, including Potions...and Firebombs. Secluding his working quarters from everyone else was a matter of public safety. Better for one building to be reduced to a crater than a whole apartment full of people. Urian hadn't ever screwed up that badly, but all it would take was one mishap with a crate of Firebombs to cause a chain reaction that set off an impromptu fireworks show.

"Good to hear," Rob said. "In that case, I won't bore either of us with small talk. I'm here to make a request."

"No."

Rob suppressed a smirk. Urian's immediate, flat denial was exactly what Diplomacy had predicted and prepared for. "It's not the same request as before," he elaborated. "This doesn't require you to disband your Party."

Several months ago, Zamira suggested that Rob should use his Class Alteration Skill to transform Urian into a Combat Class user. Urian would then join Rob's Party and reap the benefits of shared Fast Learner by being babysat through some training wheels fights. After gaining some quick and easy Levels, Urian could revert his Class, retaining the Levels he'd gained – and thus unlocking new Skills to use as an Artificer. It was a way to subvert the largest weakness of Utility Class users; that they couldn't level up effectively without putting themselves in grave danger.

Urian refused. Joining Rob's Party would require him to disband his own Party first, which was a complete non-starter. It would mean discarding the last memento he had of his wife. Her name was still sitting on his Party List, now at 0 HP, like a sarcophagus forever entombed within Urian's mind.

Rob wasn't sure if that was a particularly healthy method of coping, but it wasn't his place to judge, nor did he take up Diplomacy's offer to convince Urian otherwise. It wouldn't be right for them to insert themselves into the aged Elf's grief just because they wanted a better Artificer. And thankfully, a convenient, no-downsides option had landed in their lap.

"You've heard that my Party has Awakened their Classes, right?" Rob asked, smiling.

Urian's face morphed from confusion, to shock, to disbelief, all in the span of a few seconds. "Are you implying..." His voice grew suspicious. "From what the rumors speak of, your ability to Awaken Classes is limited. You can only do it once more."

Rob blinked. "Actually, yes. Score one for the rumor mills." At least for the next ten months or so, until his Awaken Class Skill reset, but there was no point in divulging that information. "I'm offering you the final Class Awakening. You won't have to disband your Party – you'll just be straight-up stronger than a standard Artificer. No caveats, I promise."

"Why?" Urian exclaimed, baffled. "Why me?"

It was a fair question. Class Awakenings were exceptionally rare and coveted. After handing seven of them out to his friends before anyone else could tell him otherwise, Rob had been left with one usage of Awaken Class remaining, and boy oh boy did that choice take a while to hash out with the Elders and Grand Overseers. No one wanted to squander the opportunity of a lifetime.

In the end, though, Rob was sure that this was the right call. Awakened Combat Class users could topple the mightiest of foes, but Riardin's Rangers – Faelynn included – was already a full Party of eight. Rob wasn't looking for a bench warmer to add to his roster. An Artificer wouldn't need to join his Party to perform their craft, and when sufficiently motivated to create Enchanted Items, they could practically conjure miracles from thin air.

"You created the EXP Share," Rob answered. "And the Perfected Ring of Waterdwelling. Without those Items, a LOT of people would've died. Probably everyone in the Deserters and everyone in Fiendland. Hell of a butterfly effect you caused there." He held out his hand and grinned. "Think you're up for more? Come on. You've gotta have at least a few innovations left in you."

Urian gazed at Rob's outstretched hand with an expression of longing. This was an offer that he'd have to be an idiot to turn down, even if it wound up coming with strings attached. "...What do you want in exchange?" Urian eventually asked, his paranoia stronger than his desire.

Rob would've given the Awakening to him for free, but according to Diplomacy, Urian would feel more at ease if Rob asked for something. And it just so happened that there was something Rob wanted to ask for. The return of an old friend he'd been cruelly denied for far too long.

"I want Firebombs," he directly stated. "Quit holding out on me. I get that you're building a stockpile, and that the Rangers need Firebombs to hunt Flesh Amalgamations in Nevermore City...and that I admittedly have a tendency to burn through your reserves. Buuuut I still want Firebombs. Set aside one crate a week with my name on it. And no, I don't know how long a full crate takes to craft, and I don't care. Fit it into your schedule. Pull an all-nighter if you have to. I. Want. Firebombs."

It was time for the Riardin Special to make a comeback.

Urian's lips twitched. A moment later, he barked out a laugh and shook Rob's hand with renewed vigor. "Deal."

--

Far to the south of Fiend territory, on the opposite edge of Elatra, was a ruined heap of rubble that used to be called The Village. Corruption had eaten its buildings and foliage like a swarm of termites – Corruption which now hung stagnant in the air, less dense than before. The swarm was dead. Slowly, gradually, life was being breathed into The Village by its newly-revitalized Locus of Power.

Entropy no longer held control of the land.

Hours passed. Night fell. Silence reigned. Not a single soul was around – when suddenly, away from any prying eyes, a creeping motion began to stir within the dark. Tendrils of black tar writhed, pulsing, snaking through the desolated city streets. They shot forth like arrows, aimed with deadly precision at their target.

They needn't have hurried. A Locus of Power wasn't capable of moving, let alone running. It could only sit and wait as the tendrils closed in, extending their greedy, grasping fingers, trembling with sadistic revelry as they reached forth to defile their quarry-

A brilliant light shimmered from within the Locus. The tendrils recoiled, writhing in pain as if burnt by the sun. A lone vanguard pushed forward regardless, trying to force its way inside the Locus, and was promptly incinerated by cleansing Blue.

All held still. One by one, the tendrils receded, vanishing into the night like they'd never existed. The Blue dissipated, having successfully defended the Locus, and resumed its prior duties.

On that day, entropy had lost once again.

As it would, as many times as it took, until the lands bloomed with life again.